


Le Concept D'identité

by noona96n



Series: Alejandro [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, POV Male Character, POV Second Person, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, mention of non graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noona96n/pseuds/noona96n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are not the Winter Soldier.<br/>You are not James Buchanan Barnes.<br/>You are-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Concept D'identité

_The Concept of Identity_

 

 

 

Here you stand. In the middle of the night in the Smithsonian, staring at the picture of James Buchanan Barnes.

The man who you might once were.

The man Captain America wishes you to be.

You look at his young handsome face and you listen to his voice and his easy laughter. You listen to unfamiliar people talk about him and his achievements. His bravery and his loyalty.

You look at how he looked at Captain America like he hung the fucking stars and you hate his gut like it’s a fucking plague.

#

You hate him even more because Captain America looked at him like he’s the entire universe to him.

#

(You are not supposed to feel hatred. Hatred is an emotion. And emotion is a luxury that you cannot afford.)

(Hatred eats away your heart _and you see white star on broad chest and a capital ‘A’ on the forehead and_ -)

#

You rid yourself of the armor but leave the trousers on. You cover your upper half with a battered and well-loved jacket you grab from the back of a bench. And you nick a cap and a wallet because you need to the resources to buy yourself a glove to cover the shinning silver of your metal arm.

You break into an apartment in the middle of D.C. to take a shower and help yourself to the male clothing you found in the wardrobe. You choose a black long sleeve tee and a pair of black jeans and feel like the Winter Soldier. Then you pick a blue shirt and a pair of dirty brown pants and feel a bit like James Buchanan Barnes.

But you tear right out of the clothes because _they’re not you_.

You are not the Winter Soldier.

You are not James Buchanan Barnes.

_You are-_

#

You go to the Smithsonian again first thing in the morning. You’re not worried about the metal detector detecting your metal arm or the seven knives you hid in your boots or the gun you had in your stolen jacket. Because your subconscious remember enough for you to pass through undetected.

This time, you visit the room that is a shrine to Captain America. You sit on the bench and look at America’s greatest hero and see a skinny kid with pale white skin and too long limbs. You listen to a red lips agent talk fondly of the Captain and feel the skin at the back of your neck prickles and your stomach churns with an ugly twist.

You watch the whole thing play twice before you move to leave the room. You pass the room dedicated to James Buchanan Barnes but you decide against your initial decision and go into the room. You sit there on the same spot you sat last night and let the person that you might once were soak into your skin. You let the person Captain America wishes you to be to burn onto the tip of your tongue.

But there is nothing. There is only space and emptiness.

(Like how you should be. Unfilled and unfeeling.)

(Unlike you who are overflowed with emotion and confident _and_ _protectiveness_ _and_ -)

But you sit there still because you want to know about the man who Captain America wouldn’t kill.

Then a group of school kids comes in and you move to leave the room. One of the kids asks “Who’s Bucky Barnes, Miss Greene?” and you stop in your track.

“Bucky Barnes is a sergeant that served under Captain America, Jimmy.” The teacher replies with a soft smile and pats the child softly on the head. And you want to scream. You want to grab her neck and strangle her with you metal arm. Choke the life out of her as you tell her how James Buchanan Barnes was more than a sergeant to Captain America.

“He was one of the bravest and most loyal of the Howling Commandoes, not because he is a good soldier who firmly believes in the duty of protecting his country, but because his loyalty was with Captain America.” The teacher says softly as she sneaks a glance at you and you hate her a bit less.

The students make incoherent noises to voice their confusion and the teacher laughs softly then she clarifies “Bucky Barnes was Captain America’s best friend.” Before she looks at you quickly with a soft smile. Like she knows. Like she understands.

You leave the Smithsonian quickly and quietly and you don’t look back.

#

Three days of research later, your brain is filled with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and Captain America. And these are the things you know:

a)    James Buchanan Barnes, like Captain America, was from Brooklyn.

b)    James Buchanan Barnes was a sergeant.

c)     James Buchanan Barnes was an elite sniper that serve in the Howling Commandoes under Captain America with five other men. His highest sniping record is ten people in eight minutes and his longest sniping range is one thousand eight hundred twenty meters.

d)    James Buchanan Barnes was a man who kill for Captain America.

e)     James Buchanan Barnes is the man who Captain America wouldn’t kill.

(You have the answer to the question that you once asked Captain America.)

#

Twenty days after you were awake, you finally realized this is the longest you’ve gone without getting wiped. Then you feel an unexplained anger when you realized you failed your mission. Failed to kill Captain America. The man you couldn’t kill. That anger soon turns into confusion when you realized you no longer have a mission, an objective, a target. And realized this is the very first time you are free.

And that freedom comes with vengeance and lividness against the organization that strapped you to a metal table and pushed rubber between your teeth.

You destroy the HYDRA base that they kept you in the next day and print two copies of the list of HYDRA base that’s set up across the world.

You leave a copy right next to the computer system that you take care not to destroy.

(The list is not random. The bases were arranged onto the list by you.)

#

You catch a train to New York with whatever money you have from the wallet you stole. You sit at the seat in the corner and find that people don’t give you a second glance. Dismissive of a stranger who wears blue hoodie and black jeans and has a pair of gloves over his hand in the middle of summer. Too busy with being late to work or reading the papers. So you tuck down your hoodie and find it even easier to lose yourself into the faceless crowd.

You’re there because the first HYDRA base on the list in New York. And you will tear it down brick by brick. With your bare hands.

Not because James Buchanan Barnes was from Brooklyn or because Captain America now seek refuge in Stark Tower.

Nope. Not at all.

(You spend your first day in Brooklyn. Walking through unfamiliar street and looking at equally unfamiliar houses.

You sleep for the first time since forever on that day in a rundown apartment that was on rent. It was restless and you dream of angry voices and shriek of pain. You dream of the clashing of the trash can and dirty pavement. You dream of bruised ribs and scrapped knees.

You spend the next day sitting in the Café in front of the Stark Tower and finding possible weakness for you to break in. You find none and you sleep better that night. You dream of soft blonde hair and liquid blue eyes. You dream of skinny legs and thin wrists. You dream of skillful fingers sketching on stolen notebook and joyous laughter.

You realized some pleasure comes with the cost of nothing.

(You’re not meant to indulge in pleasure. Pleasure is an unattainable luxury.)

(Luxury is something you have always wanted.))        

You raid the first HYDRA base on the list and perch yourself on a rooftop looking at Iron Man and the Falcon scouting the damaged space through a binocular. When you see Captain America the first time after nearly a month, you feel something blossom within your chest.

#

You destroy the next four base on the list and continue to observe Captain America through your binocular. You feel a funny thing inside your chest every time but you never realized what it is.

(You have not feel for so long you do not feel justify to give any emotion a name.)

You realized on your fourth observation that whatever you felt is contentment and promptly feel conflicted.

(You are not supposed to be happy. You are not supposed to feel anything. You cannot afford that luxury.)

(You are unsurprised. Contentment is something that you associate with clear blue eyes and healthy white skin and plump red lips.)

#

You leave for Russia a week after the last attack. You visit the Smithsonian thrice during that span of time and realized you now refer to Steven Rogers as Steven Rogers. Further analysis of the cause show that this habit occur after your fourth raid on HYDRA base in Arizona.

And you book the first ticket to Russia you can find.

On your first night in Russia, your dream is plagued with nightmare. You dream of speeding train and snow covered ground. You dream of falling and eternity. You dream of ice cold bed and misty breathe. You dream of the taste of rubber between your teeth and metal around your arms. You dream of excruciating pain and you scream.

You wake up that morning tasting cooper and you go on a walk. And decide to move your plan up a few days thanks to your foul mood.

So in the dead of the night that day, you worm your way into the HYDRA base that is supposedly the place where the Winter Soldier is born. Everyone you kill looks at you with horror but you feel justified at taking away their life because they fed you lies and groom you into a weapon. They order you to kill innocent people and wreak havoc. But not anymore. Not when their scream of agony is the last thing you’ll hear from them.

You access their databanks in hope of finding something. _Anything_. You don’t know exactly what you’re looking for but you do it anyway and copy everything onto your hard drive and leave the original intact. You even wipe the blood of the keyboard and kick the corpses away from the computer.

You’re not exactly sure why you did it but giving whatever messed up pieces of the Winter Soldier to Steven Rogers seems right to you.

(You berate yourself for giving away whatever info you have on yourself to your mission.)

(You know that if you can’t figure it out yourself, Steven Rogers will figure it out for you. After all, no one knows you better than him.)

#

You read the files you copied from the HYDRA base and promptly feel disgusted. And nausea. And ashamed.

And regret. And fearful.

(It might not be you on these paper. It might not be you who murder those people. It might not be you whose hands are dirtied.

But it is the man who wears your face and use your skill. It is still a part of your ugly self.

(And Steven Rogers will know all this. That’s what you worried of most.))

#

The next time you go out on the street, there are a team on your tail. How pitiful, you think. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. You’re not afraid of them. Your loyalty is not with them. It never was anyway. And you’re definitely not dependent on them. Not anymore.

So before the leader of the team can order any attack on you, you take them out one by one. Swiftly and cleanly, with just your hands. No guns. No knives. No sound and no scream. And you missed this because when the hell did you go around on streets, parading around with riffles and slugs and fighting in the middle of the city. It’s not your way. Your way is quiet and clean.

(You are a ghost. You follow orders quietly and obediently. No questions asked and no answer given. Because have you forgotten? The last time you didn’t return to base, you were hunted down and punished severely.

Of course you have, they wiped you remember?

Oh, you don’t remember that either do you?)

(You are a best friend. Smooth entrance and kicking bullies in the back alley. You snipe baddies and you have his back. You don’t say anything. Just keep him safe. And healthy. And alive.)

#

You go to Germany, to the next base on your list and when you go in there is nothing. No human, no machines and no equipment in sight. Just an artistic writing on the wall. ‘It wasn’t you’ the cursive writing reads and there are emotions waging war in your head.

You clench and unclench your metal hands and sort out your feeling. Trying to identify the conflicting feels inside your brain. Telling them to stop. Telling them to settle. And when they do, all you feel is a lighter heart.

#

(The lightness of the heart, you realized, is call relief and you think he understands. Then you feel angry because how could he be so forgiving. You taught him better.

But you still feel relief anyway.  

(Relief is the rise and the fall of the broad blue chest.)

(Relief is soft radiant smile after a fit cough and healthy skin in the middle of winter.))

#

The two base you visits follow the same trend and you feel pissed off. So you pay the next base a visit immediately. Shooting the guards and strangling the scientist. You extract every files on the databank and contemplate about deleting it. You don’t.

And you write ‘Stop it’. Your handwriting is scratchy and crook and like that of a child.

(Because it was your face on those files and you skill being used. Because it was you.

And it is a part of you.)

#

After you visit another base to find it clean and devoid of any HYDRA agents, you promptly feel pissed off. And the clear and beautiful letters that spells ‘Why did you give it to me then?’ only intensify your feelings. So you head to the next base immediately and destroy in the most gruesome way possible. You crush the guards’ skulls and leave the corpses scattered everywhere. You let the blood splatters on the gray cement floor and paint the white flawless wall crimson.

With one of the scientists’ blood, you write ‘It’s for Stark.’ In your scratchy and childish handwriting. You feel no shame or guilt when you dip your metal finger into his gut and smear gallons of blood to create letters.

(They deserve it. They deserve it all for taking away your life.)

#

You visit another three HYDRA bases across Austria and there are three messages for you. Written in that beautiful handwriting that you realized you are familiar with.

‘Tony said ‘Bullshit’’ the first one reads and you roll your eyes. You not exactly sure why you did it but you think it’s something fond.

‘It wasn’t you. So please. Just.’ There are scratched out words on the walls then the message continues ‘Stay safe. Please.’

‘I’m with you till the end of the line.’ The last one reads. And you smile a small thoughtful one. Your chapped lips stretched thin across your perfectly aligned teeth and you know where you’re heading next.

#

It wasn’t hard to find Steve’s apartment. It’s a relatively small one for someone with his financial supports and income and you think maybe he’s not used to anything bigger. The thought just came to mind in a flash and you don’t know where it comes from. And you don’t know if it’s yours or someone else.

(James’ or the Winter Soldier’s or yours)

You get in through the window and settle yourself in his living room. You look at a framed sketch put on the wall above and realized that it is there deliberately. So you move it and away and see three bullet holes and wince. You breathe in once and remember sitting on the roof of the opposite building complex. You remember running above a crown of golden sun and catching a red blue shield. You remember throwing it and looking at the bright blue eyes. And when you come to, you are sitting on the couch clutching the frame and sorting out your scrambled brain.

It’s high time you sort it all out.

#

Some days. On good days, you wake up and see milk white ceiling and feels happy. You look at the yellow ray of the sun spilling through the curtains and smile. On those days, you remember happy things. Lighthearted and carefree. You remember things like going to the movie after a well-earned pay. You see guilty expressions but there is a soft bashful smile and you know it’s worth it. Sometimes, you remember walking into a shoebox apartment to smell fresh flowers and feels the soft spring air. You see fragile body atop a window sill with short pencil stub and old sketch book. You smile and tell him to help put away the food. On those days, you know those moments belong to James. Because they’re all happy things. And a man like him deserve happiness and contentment. And there’s Steve. Small and fragile Steve. But Steve nonetheless and that’s enough for you to know who it belongs to.

Other days. Bad days when you wake up with skull splitting headaches and liquid electricity dancing on your skin, you scream and see red. You remember dead eyes and lifeless skin. You remember open mouths and tattered limbs. You see blood blood blood. You remember cold metal tanks and taste vile rubber between your teeth and you hyperventilate. You remember a mask and a target. And you remember a dozen lifetimes that are not yours. After those days, when you goes through your brain, you realized your categorized those memories as the Winter Soldier’s.

And on strange days, you wake up feeling angry and you feel strange feelings gnawing at your stomach. On those days, you remember your voice shouting ‘Let’s hear it for Captain America’ and you remember mumbling ‘I'm invisible. I-I'm turning into you. This is a horrible dream!’ And those days, you don’t know. You just don’t.

#

Two weeks later you wonder why you’re in Steve’s apartment. You don’t understand why you wear his clothes and use his shampoo. You don’t know why you fixed the bullet holes and sleep in his bed. And sometimes you wonder why you feeding the stray cat and reading his books make you feel better. Sometimes you go to the Smithsonian and stare at his face. You see his eyes squint shut with a heartfelt smile and your heart gets lighter. You go through his sketches some days and see cityscapes and James.

(You’re certain James is not one to sit still and pose for and drawing.)

Then you remember ‘I’m with you till the end of the line.’ And you sleep with his sweatshirt on.

#

Five days later, you’re preparing your lunch. Your metal fingers wrap around the kitchen knife as you slice through the ham and that’s when you hear the key turns and the door open. You throw the knife and it embed into the wall, a hair away from the redhead’s pretty neck. You cross the distant swiftly and have her choking from your metal arm. There is a gun under your jaw and an arrow aimed at your skull and you realize you are strangling the Black Widow and Hawkeye is aiming for your head.

Black Widow looks at you with a little smirk like she knows the most delicious secret and you tighten your grip. The string of the bow is drawn tighter and the Russian says “You don’t have a key.”

You narrows your eyes at her and ask “Who has it?”

The redhead doesn’t answer and you pushes her into the wall. You’re certain there should have been an arrow through your brain already but there isn’t any. And the Black Widow replies “Just me.”

You loosen your grip and she continues “And Clint. And Tony. And Bruce.” So you glare at her, your metal fingers blocking air out of her windpipe.

“And Thor. Don’t forget Thor.” Hawkeye says amusedly and Black Widow smirks wider. She looks at you straight in the eyes and you let go of her. You retrieve the knife and go back to slicing you ham. You hear Black Widow chuckling softly and ignore it.

That evening, Hawkeye makes spaghetti for dinner and tells you “Call me Clint.”

You look at him and Black Widow says “And call me Natasha.”

You expect them to ask for your name in return but they didn’t.

#

Six days later, the two are going away. You make salad for breakfast and they eat silently. Not worried about poisons or danger and you realized they never had the entire time they stay here. And before they leave, you move your mouth to say something but bite your tongue instead.

Natasha sees this and touches your cheek. She says “Ваш секретный сейф с меня.” Her Russian is crispy and impeccable. Clint gives both of you a weird look but doesn’t say anything. You choose to remain silent and she smiles, genuine and soft, before she continues “Вы хороший человек.”

You look into her eyes and make a desperate noise at the back of your throat. You reply “Я не ему.”

Natasha looks at you with something in her eyes and she says “Я знаю. И он знает слишком.”

You make another sound, this time it sounds suspiciously like a kicked puppy, and Natasha gives your left cheek a soft kiss before she mumbles “Guess we’ll be going now.”

You give her a curt nod and turn to Clint. The blond smile at you a bit and say “Good to know you big guy.” And pat your metal arm.

You mumble something incoherent in something that sounds like French and shut the door.

#

A few days after the two agents left, you grow bored. So you visit the Smithsonian, again. Because where else should you go. And this time, you observe. You sit still and you observe. You read about James Buchanan Barnes and you compare whatever is on the screen with whatever you know. You go listen to people talk about him and you think.

“Sergeant Barnes. Bucky.” The red lips agent says slowly then continues “He’s a good man. And a good soldier. The best sniper we have and the most loyal.”

You listen and knows that it’s true. You hear “He was brave and noble and he died protecting his best friend. Till his dying breath, he was always there for Steve- Captain America. And Steve was never the same man ever since.”

She looks pained and her smile is watery. “Losing someone important does that to you.” She says as if she understands.

You listen to a man speaks. “Bucky was a sniping genius. He’s the best. The bravest and the most noble and loyal of the Howling Commandos.” And you smile because you remember this man and his eccentricity.

“And he’s a stupid fool.” He says, bitter and angry and sad. He pause as if to collect his thoughts and says “He shouldn’t have dealt with someone he can’t handle. Stupid idiotic fool.” Then he gets out of the camera, abruptly and fast, not answering the remaining questions.

After you leave the Smithsonian, you decide to gives the red lips agent’s nursing home a visit. You go into her room quietly, hoping that she’s asleep but she isn’t. She looks at you and went speechless. Then she says “James.” Her lips thin as she smile sadly and reaches for your cheek.

“Oh James. Steve will be happy to see you.” She says and you don’t trust your voice enough to answer so you stay quiet. She continues “He was so sad James. So angry and lost.”

You nod as you take all of this in. You think of the way Steve’s eyes brighten up when he said ‘Bucky’ and you remember how his voice cracked as he said ‘Please don’t make me do this.’

“Steve will be so happy James.” The woman says and pats your flesh hand that you put on her bed. She continues “Steve was never the same after you fell. He was angry and he drank. He was angry with himself, with HYDRA, with everyone.”

“Oh James. He was so lost and reckless without you.” She tells you softly and you laugh humorlessly, because Steve maybe an idiot but he is never reckless. Never. He is the most careful man you ever know. Mindful of the summer heat and the cold white snow. His words are beautiful and calculated every time he speaks. And every actions has a meaning.

The founder of S.H.I.E.l.D looks at you as if you are a child and says “He was heartbroken.”

You look at her funnily before she cough and you repeat this interaction for the next hour and a half.

And when you go back home (since when was this your home, you wonder) that evening, you sit on Steve’s bed and look at Steve’s sketchbook. You see Bucky and his handsome smile and cockiness. You turn the page and see shadings of metal fingers and a single star. And you think-

#

Steve finally comes back to his apartment five weeks after your stay. It’s some time around dawn and he’s exhausted, didn’t even notice you sitting like a statue of the windowsill. And when he does though, he just smiles his glorious smile and drops his shield. You feel your stomach churns with butterflies (and your force it to digest those insects) and your heart clenches painfully sweet.

He says “Bucky.” Softly, and sweetly and you grunt like a fucking horse. And he stops what he wanted to say, a frown on his handsome face.

“I’m not him.” You say, your voice is rough and hoarse from disuse.

The frown vanishes and Steve’s smile return, golden and bright and rivalling his sun kissed hair. The blond takes of his gloves slowly and asks you fondly “What should I call you then?”

You stay quiet, your brows furrowed creating architectural lines on your face, unable to answer such a simple question. You snap your head up to glare heatedly at Steve when you hear him chuckling. His laughter doesn’t subside and you intensify your glare by tenfold and you says “Punk.”

Steve stops laughing and looks at you. Surprised. Happy. Peaceful.

And then he asks “Should I call you Dmitri?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

#

The Winter Soldier is an elite sniper. The Winter Soldier is HYDRA’s greatest asset and SHIELD’s worst enemy. The Winter Soldier is the world most feared killing machine.

The Winter Soldier is meant to kill Captain America.

#

Once, you asked him: Who the hell is Bucky? And now, you know who Bucky is.

Bucky is a kid from Brooklyn. Bucky is Steve’s bestest and only friend. Bucky is the man who Steve loves.

Bucky is the man who loves Steve.

#

And you love Steve too.

But you’re not Bucky. And you’re certainly not the Winter Soldier.

You are simply the man that loves Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happen when I browse through the Bucky tag on Tumblr and listen to Lady Gaga's Alejandro on repeat (hence the name of the series). I don't even know how this came to be.  
> This is part of the series by the way. There might be two or three more fic, I'm not sure. But there will be more. So bookmark the series or subscribe if you want to see more.  
> Do drop me a word or two darlings, comments keep me motivated. *wink wink*


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